


Weak in the knees, Strength in the support

by nerdlife4eva



Series: Ice and Fire [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Yuri Plisetsky, VictUuri, brotayuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva/pseuds/nerdlife4eva
Summary: Yuri P. is hiding his physical pain from his coach, teammates, and friends under the false assumption that admitting to its existence will make him seem weak. When support comes from an unexpected source, Yuri learns that it isn't so bad to have people around him who care.(If he wasn't so purposefully oblivious, the support would be less unexpected)





	Weak in the knees, Strength in the support

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Yuri P. centered fic and the first in the new series Ice and Fire. The next entry in the series will be shared POV between Yuri P. and Otabek as they travel to Hasetsu. This is following canon timeline and is friendship oriented between Yuri and Otabek, while Victor and Yuuri will also exist throughout this fic (as a couple). 
> 
> Yuri's pain is based off my own experience of an extreme growth spurt during a time of intense athletic pursuits. 
> 
> As always, if you want to talk to me, please come see me on Tumblr or Twitter!  
> [NeRdLife4Eva](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva) (Twitter)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/n3rdlif343va) (Tumblr)

_Pain._

It was the first sensation that Yuri recognized as he opened his eyes, the barely-there light of the rising sun tinting the very edges of his room. Next to him, the alarm was shrill and causing reactive lightning to shoot through his legs. The shock of sound was physical and stabbing, making him snatch his phone to throw it across the room.

As a figure skater, soreness was an ever present monster, lurking under his skin as a reminder of what he was doing to his body in his quest to succeed. The dull ache in a hip from too many strikes to the ice, the sharp pinch of an ankle when a landing was unstable, and the subtle throb of exhaustion when practice had run too long; these were all parts of his daily existence.

This pain was not.

This was a pain that he struggled to identify. Its origin was unknown, but it sank into his bones, pulling his muscles to fraying rubber bands and making him weak as he pressed his feet onto the floor. It lived in his legs, appearing unexpectedly and feeding the insecure beast that had taken over his insides.

He had lived with it for a month. Every night he convinced himself that the pain wouldn’t return, willing the thoughts of it away so he could slip into restless sleep. But every morning as his eyes opened, the realization rolled back in as the tide of piercing hurt crashed over him.

Reaching for his bottom drawer, Yurio withdrew the bottle of stolen medication. The doctor had prescribed the pills to Yakov for his back or his head, or whatever body part the Russian team was causing Yakov to break that month. When the pill bottle had disappeared, Lilia had called Yakov old and forgetful, swearing that he must have lost it somewhere.

Neither of them had ever even looked at Yuri. He was quiet about his body, unwilling to admit that there was any weakness at all. Instead, when it became overwhelming, he lashed out. An “old man” thrown Victor’s way, or a “little piggy” thrown at Katsuki, or a “hag” tossed violently at Mila. These were the words that kept the tears at bay. At sixteen, it was easier for people to accept that Yuri was an angsty teen than to ask what was wrong. He had built a wall that way, and he intended to keep it stacked high to hide his body’s malfunction for as long as possible.

Shoving a pill into his mouth and swallowing it dry, Yurio pushed himself from the bed, wobbling as his legs attempted to support his weight. “Not today,” he hissed under his breath, forcing himself forward to retrieve his ringing phone.

It was Otabek, as it always was this time of day, but Yuri ignored the call, letting the phone drop on his dresser. He had made up numerous excuses for his distance from Otabek over the last month. Lying to his best friend had never been Yuri’s plan, but it was one that he was effectuating quite well. Shoving off of the dresser, he went in pursuit of clothing and food before the pill sloshing in his stomach made him sick.

* * *

 

The tears burned the back of his eyes as Yuri came to rest in the middle of the ice, swallowing hard to keep his emotions at bay. His legs were burning, flames licking at his knees and it took all of his resistance to keep from shaking. Yakov’s voice was floating around him, making corrections and doling out discipline for wobbly landings and flubbed spins. Yuri could barely hear him, the blood pulsing in his ears creating a deafening drum as a matching beat slammed against his knee caps. If he didn’t get off the ice, he was definitely going to collapse.

Pulling his breath in hard, he flew as fast as his legs could carry him, barging through the barrier and flicking off his coach as he went. Yakov’s pink and purple face felt oddly satisfying as Yuri shouted, “I gotta wiz, you old bastard!” Snagging his blade guards, Yuri suppressed his wince when he bent to place them over his blades. Without looking back, he fled to the bathroom, slamming the bathroom stall shut and sinking onto the toilet while the tears rolled over his cheeks.

* * *

 

“Somethings wrong,” Yuuri slid to a stop next to Victor, tucking a hand on Victor’s elbow to get his attention. Victor pulled his earphones out and stared at Yuuri with quizzical consideration. “Somethings wrong with Yuri, has been for a least a week, maybe more.”

The sad smile took over Victor’s face as he wrapped an arm around his fiancé’s waist. “His skating has been off. He looks either completely disconnected or so determined his face wants to shatter to pieces with it. I didn’t realize you noticed.” Victor tapped a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, letting the warmth of Yuuri’s concern flood his heart. They both had a tendency to overlook emotions in others when they were wrapped up in their own programs, but Victor felt a strong surge of love for Yuuri knowing he had been watching Yuri just as closely. “Should I talk to him?”

Yuuri loved Victor more than life itself, but it had only been in the last few months that Victor had gotten a handle on dealing with Yuuri’s anxiety. He had a feeling that Yuri wasn’t facing the exact same issue, but he did think a more gentle touch was in order. Victor had a tendency to go hard on the tough love where Yuri was concerned, a tactic that worked excellently for skating, but not well for other matters. Squeezing Victor tight, Yuuri placed a chaste kiss against his fiancé’s cheek. “I’ll go. But if he kicks me on my ass, you can tag in.” He left Victor chuckling on the ice, as Yuuri stepped through the barrier tugging on his own blade guards.

Crossing the benches, Yuuri caught Yakov’s eye and gave him a swift nod. Yakov still spoke to him on an as-needed basis, which was certainly acceptable in Yuuri’s eyes. Moving quickly toward the bathroom, he pushed the door open, pausing to listen for signs of life.

The softest whimper escaped the middle stall and Yuuri felt a fist of recognition clamp around his heart. He had cried in bathroom stalls all over the world, and in one memorable stall, had come face-to-face with the ice punk of Russia. Easing himself up onto the sink, Yuuri clasped his hands in his lap, prepared to wait.

In his distress, Yuri had missed the sound of the door opening and the scrape of guarded skates over the floor. Pressing the palm of his hands over his eyes, Yuri willed himself to stop being a baby and pushed up from his sitting position. Unlocking the stall, he jumped when confronted with the calm figure of Yuuri Katsuki, sitting between the sinks as if he belonged there.

“Come to kick my door stall down and tell me to retire?” Yurio spat the words, but there was no venom behind them. Inside of him, the need to fake his anger broke like a raw egg banged against a sharp edge.

“Why would I want to steal your signature move? We both know you hold the strongest talent for throwing a solid kick.” Yuuri watched as the younger boy moved gingerly through the bathroom, turning to lean on the sinks next to Yuuri’s thigh. “We both also know that crying in bathrooms in _my thing_.” Using his elbow, Yuuri nudged into Yuri’s side, gaining a small smile and an eye roll. “So, want to tell me what’s going on?”

“No,” Yuri said without conviction. A fleeting thought flitted through his mind. Yuuri would probably listen to him, maybe make a calming joke or two and then try to sort out what was going on. Out of pure stubbornness, Yuri bit his tongue, shoving from the sink and moving toward the door.

“Out there,” Yuuri spoke with a warning sigh to his voice, “are Yakov and Victor. It is them or me, I’m afraid.”

Yuri froze. Yakov would give him the silent treatment, trying to chase out a confession by simply ignoring Yuri into frustrated admission. Victor would certainly sit him down and lecture him until he cracked. Deep down he knew that both would do so out of some bizarre form of love, but that didn’t excuse their horrendous attempts at expressing it. Admitting defeat, Yuri spun to rest his back on the door, letting the physical agony envelope him as he draped his body on the floor.

“So me,” Yuuri joked, bending a leg to remove his skate and repeating the process with the second one. Padding across the floor, he sank to the ground cross-legged and proceeded to remove Yuri’s skates. He hid his mild surprise that Yuri wasn’t fighting him over the simple affection. “Tell me ice tiger, what’s ailing you?”

“Stupid,” Yuri kicked out lightly at Yuuri’s hands with his socked feet, the wince now unavoidable as he lowered his leg. When Yuuri caught his right foot and pressed a strong thumb into the arch, Yuri let a moan escape. Embarrassed, he dropped his head back against the door using his hands to hide the blush creeping over his cheeks. The hands dropped from his feet, causing Yuri to scowl. “I didn’t say stop.” He tried to snap the words but couldn’t find the energy to do so.

Chuckling, Yuuri sunk his hands into Yuri’s slim feet. He had never massaged anyone besides Victor (and Phichit once after an ill-advised drunken bet) and it felt strange to hold the delicate bones of someone else in his hands. The sunken drop of Yuri’s shoulders, and the relaxation creeping over the otherwise tensed face urged Yuuri on though. He wasn’t going to push Yuri to talk, choosing patience over force in a way that Victor and Yakov wouldn’t with the youngest senior skater.  

“Can you rub knees?” Yuri muttered, leaning forward to place a hand over his left knee, squeezing it experimentally and wincing again.

“Sorry,” Yuuri paused again, letting his hands hover over the slim legs stretched in front of him. “I didn’t hear you.”

Frowning, Yuri sat back again. “Nothing,” he huffed, refusing to look at Yuuri. He was being really nice and Yuri could feel his defense mechanisms rusting to a halt.

Gently, Yuuri rolled the loose pant leg up Yuri’s calf and over his knee. He was careful to keep his finger tips from grazing Yuri’s skin afraid of what he would find under the abnormally baggy pants. Yuri generally wore leggings to practice, but had taken to wearing joggers recently. When the bright red, visibly swollen knee was exposed to the cool air, Yuuri let his jaw drop as Yuri hissed out a breath.

Yuri wasn’t sure if it was the cold of the bathroom floor against his heated skin or the stunned expression on Yuuri’s face that had him flushing again. His knees had been red and on the wrong side of puffy for weeks, but without a fall or touch down on the ice to explain it. He didn’t have an explanation and therefore, threw his hands over his knee and glared at Yuuri.

“Do you hurt when you get up in the morning?” Yuuri remembered the swollen knees of his own growth spurt, and had compared horror stories of phantom pains and constant ache with Victor over a long soak in their bathtub. Yuuri had only gone through the unpleasantness once, the entirety of his major growing occurring when he was nineteen. He was clumsy and uncoordinated, and constantly seeking remedies to relieve the always nagging sting in his joints.

Victor had lived through the long periods of growing limbs twice in his teenage years, gaining seven inches one summer between his fourteenth and fifteenth year and gaining almost eight inches during his seventeenth year. During the second growth spurt, it had been the first time that Victor had questioned his own ability to skate while physically suffering.

Taking advantage of Yuuri’s silence, Yuri rolled up his other pant leg to expose his equally as colorful knee. Telling the truth would surely make him weak, which is why he had kept it to himself. He didn’t need to be coddled like some scabby kneed toddler, and he definitely wasn’t going to accept being pushed off the ice. But… there would be no harm in letting Yuuri see what was going on, especially since Yuri had no plans to verbally explain anything.

“Growing pains,” Yuuri stated, bending forward to run delicate finger tips over the swollen knees. “It isn’t from injury, but you have probably overworked yourself without taking proper care of the joints.” Leaning backwards, Yuuri rested his own hands against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. “I went through it-”

“Yuck, you were probably stupid clumsy,” Yurio remarked, staring down at his deformed knees. It was weird to have a potential name placed on his ailment, but a sense of relief was leaking through his defiance of being cared for as the dread of what growing could mean for his skating career filtered in.

Laughing, Yuuri waved a hand in the air. “Honestly, you have no idea. I tried to get out of bed once and face planted directly on the floor. I considered letting myself rot and die there, a knobby kneed corpse of hopelessness.”

This time Yuri did laugh, the mental image coming clearly into focus and making him snicker harder. Until he remembered his own determination to die in his bed less than three days ago. This was Yuuri though, and although Yuuri had quickly become the king of quiet clapbacks since he arrived in Russia, he was still the only one that didn’t treat Yuri like a child. If he asked, Yuri also knew that Yuuri would never tell Victor all the details of their bathroom conversation. He would never admit to liking Yuuri, but he liked Yuuri. Sighing, he looked up with mild interest. “What do I do?”

“First, you give Yakov back his pills.” The argument between Yakov and Lilia had flooded Yuuri’s mind as soon as he caught sight of the first red knee. He didn’t expect Yuri to admit it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Yakov had not, in fact, had a senior moment and lost his pain medication.

Mouth gaping open, Yuri stared before trying to spit out a denial. It got caught in his throat, the angry mask forgotten somewhere outside of the heavy bathroom door. “Fine.” It wasn’t worth fighting. The pills made him feel strange and it wasn’t like they helped at all.

“If you aren’t going to talk to Yakov about it, you can start coming to our place after practice,” Yuuri was trying not to sound like a lecturing father, knowing that his face was dangerously in line with Yuri’s foot should it decide to strike out. “We’ll feed you and set you up on the couch to elevate your knees and ice them. Ice and heat rotation will help. Plus we have ten heating pads at home because… well… Victor…” Yuuri waved his hand again and joined in Yuri’s snickering. “You can sneak one home in your training bag if you want.”

“You aren’t going to force me to talk to Yakov?” Yuri sounded suspicious. Even though Yuuri was the least annoying of his unwanted surrogate father figures, he still didn’t quite believe that there weren’t plans to rat Yuri out behind his back.

“Alright,” Yuuri shrugged, “you should talk to Yakov, but it is your choice. I’ll make sure Victor understands that as well.” Standing Yuuri offered a hand, pulling Yuri up to his feet. “Let’s go. Pretend like you threw up or something and I’ll make you a bowl of ice cream when we get home. Victor hates vomit, he won’t follow if he thinks there is puke involved.” Yuuri hated nothing more than the idea of an afternoon without Victor, but it was the right thing to do to give Yuri some space to sort out his own mind. Victor would hover like a loving protective parent, and Yuri would definitely blow a knee out trying to kick him to death.

“What if you puked and I have to take you home?” Yuri stumbled, and refused to make eye contact with Yuuri when the arm came around his waist.

“You honestly think Victor would let anyone else take care of me in that situation?” Yuuri laughed as Yuri gagged.

“Fine, I puked, you talk,” Yuri yanked opened the door, grimacing as he watched Yuuri put both pairs of skates over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

 

True to his word, Katsuki had made a giant bowl of ice cream covered in chocolate sprinkles placing it promptly in Yuri’s waiting hands. His legs were propped up on a stack of pillows, ice packs strapped on each one by flexible bands with Velcro. The TV remote lay on soft blanket covering Yuri’s body and his cell phone was plugged into the charger, positioned at his elbow. Yuuri turned down the living room light, whistling to Makkachin and slipped silently from the apartment with only a quiet goodbye.

There was a strange feeling in Yuri’s chest, one that he could easily identify from his childhood when his grandfather would carefully bandage his damaged feet after washing them with a worn cloth. A feeling that would sneak in when the piroshky would be waiting on the table at the perfect temperature to eat while his grandfather would mumble the phrase “screw diet plans” in his heavy Russian accent. A sensation that would overwhelm him when he would spy his grandfather’s slumped figure, asleep over stacks of government forms on the kitchen table, ensuring Yuri’s next subsidized check.

He was being cared for, and he could feel the emotion of that realization melding with his exhaustion to create a dangerous potential for more tears. Shoving ice cream in his mouth, Yuri grabbed his phone, dialing Otabek’s number. When his best friend’s face filled the screen, Yuri flipped the camera to highlight his raised legs.

“Yura!” Otabek exclaimed, concern leaking into every letter of the nickname, “are you alright? Did you fall?”

A pause was required before Yuri could flip the camera around. Otabek cared too, and it was a little much for Yuri to handle at the moment. Finally registering the continued onslaught of questions from his phone speaker, Yuri braced himself and flipped it back around. “I’m okay, Beka,” Yuri couldn’t help smiling at the relieved look on Otabek’s face, “Katsuki says it is just growing pains and it will pass.”

“Is that why you have been such a shit lately?” Otabek raised an eyebrow on screen making Yuri chortle. “You were in pain?”

Yuri shrugged. “It hurts. I’m sure you know.”

“Yura, I do not know,” Otabek sighed, “I’m short.”

The simple declaration broke the final resistance of Yuri’s mood and he laughed, full-bodied and shaking the ice cream in his hand. “Maybe I will be taller than you next time I see you! That would make all this stupid pain worth it!”

“Ha,” Otabek shook his head, his smile restrained but present. “Then you can reach things on the top shelf. I knew you would come in handy someday.”

Laughter felt so good, and Yuri found himself angrily scolding himself for not addressing any of this sooner. He feel into easy conversation with Otabek, as they both let the topic of Yuri’s buttheadedness slide away.

Keys in the door had Yuri twisting on the couch, waiting for Yuuri to make his way back into the house. Instead, a flood of delicious food smells rolled in, followed by a very cheerful looking Victor. “Ai! Yurio! I have collected all your favorite food, you can have whatever you want as long as you don’t get off that couch!”

The bright smile made Yuri scowl, wishing for the quiet existence of Katuski even while his growling stomach betrayed him. Victor moved into the kitchen, speaking a million words a minute and  not noticing that Yuri had decided to ignore him.

“Let them take care of you,” Otabek advised, a gentle suggestion more than a command. “I know you claim they are goofy, but they mean well.”

“You’re biased because Victor bought you a plane ticket to Hasetsu for vacation,” Yuri scowled, although there wasn’t much heart in the expression. Vacation with his best friend was a break he was looking forward to, even if it meant traveling with Victor and Yuuri at the helm.

“Hmmph,” Otabek shrugged, tilting his head to peer at Yuri. “Take care, alright? Call me later when you head to bed and let me know how you are feeling.”

Yuri flushed, becoming overwhelmed with Otabek’s concern and Victor’s constant monologue about their dinner. Waving instead of saying goodbye, Yuri disconnected the call and laid his head back with his eyes closed.

This morning felt a million years away. He had woken alone, purposefully isolated in a bubble with his pain, swallowing stolen medication and determined to hide his issues from the world. Instead all of these fools, who seemed to care for him for absolutely no reason at all, had stormed in and refused to let him suffer.

Now there were other concerns growing in his belly, making him shiver. The end of his career always felt dangerously paired with the impending doom of puberty and body changes, the bile suddenly rising in Yuri’s throat as he contemplated it. But Victor and Yuuri had survived, coming out to be top skaters and still elegant on the ice. Yuri would never admit these thoughts to them, but it gave him a temporary sense of reassurance to consider their success post-puberty. If the clumsy Katsudon and the dippy Living Legend could do it, certainly Yuri could too. He would remind himself of this every day as a tool to evade the worry that was already beginning to chase him.

When the bowl was lifted from his lap and replaced with a heavy plate, Yuri opened his eyes to gape at the mound of food in front of him. “None of this is on my diet plan!” He leaned forward to examine the plate, noting the promised presence of all his favorite foods.

“What Yakov doesn’t know, might kill him,” Victor winked, turning away from the couch.

“If you think you can fatten me up so I am all squishy like your pig, you have another thing coming old man!” Yuri yelled from his place on the couch, beginning to stuff food in his mouth.

“I heard that,” Yuuri joked, pushing the front door closed with his hip as he unclipped Makkachin’s leash. “Soft and squishy beats lame and limpy any day.” Moving toward the kitchen, Yuuri accepted his own plate and a quick kiss from Victor. Shuffling to the side of the couch, the plate took its place on the coffee table while Yuuri took his own place on the floor. Victor followed the motion, snagging the remote and flipping on the television.

Yuri let his eyes travel between the black head of hair to his right and the silver hair to his left as the couple argued over television programs. They drove him nuts, but Yuri couldn’t help thinking there was no place he would rather be.

And… if these two idiots could survive puberty, there was no question in Yuri’s mind that he could survive it better.

**Author's Note:**

> Buttheadedness is not a word. However, it should be because it fits Yuri P. (and Yuuri K. and Victor for that matter...) quite perfectly!


End file.
